


Skin

by yourwastedspace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anorexia, Body Horror, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fisting, Force-Feeding, Gang Rape Aftermath, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Psychological Torture, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Whipping, flaying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourwastedspace/pseuds/yourwastedspace
Summary: Roose retrieves a badly-broken Reek from Ramsay and it all goes downhill from there.[Reposting this after I deleted it in 2016].
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Reek, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy/Reek, Roose Bolton/Theon Greyjoy
Comments: 16
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PenelopeTower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeTower/gifts), [Feral_Fic_Writer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Fic_Writer/gifts).



> Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented on this fic when it was originally posted; to PenelopeTower for re-inspiring and re-igniting the Thramsay in me; to Feral_Fic_Writer for writing such gorgeous fics that I could stay in hiding no longer; and to everyone who's published an incredible Thramsay fic on here (I've loved reading them albeit anonymously).
> 
> [Also, sorry that I'm reposting this in chunks rather than in one go - I saved the original version as a PDF and getting it back into Ao3 is about as easy as a game of Choose a Finger].

**One**

* * *

I notice, with annoyance, that my son is nervous: whistling through his teeth, an inaudible but jaunty tune. This particular habit, like so many others, had been acquired as a child: a tactic, no doubt, to cope with the generalised horror of uncertain surroundings; this home that was not-home; this place that was never really his own. It is a noise, I note - and not without shame - that makes me want to stave in my son's skull.

'Here we are'. The voice, clipped and jolly, almost betrays the anxiety. The key in the lock. The groaning of oak. My son steps aside, and we go in.

In the darkness, the far corner, a shadow, a figure: hunched over, so hidden; small and so still. 'Here he is', says my son. Nothing, no movement. Our boots on the stone. The whistling stops.

The figure, in the corner; it could be a corpse. I glance at my son and see the smirk on his lips. 'He's always asleep'. He walks over, so briskly, and gives it a kick. The figure jerks but no shrieks; only drowning for breath. Up go the arms; it curls into itself. Then a judder, a shudder, as the body unfurls. Slowly it moves, onto its knees. Then forward it comes, crawling on elbows, the knocking of teeth. I see my son grin. I hear myself speak.

‘This thing - this is him?'

'Yes, of course'. He sounds disappointed, offended; like before every beating, and those never did the trick. My son, bastard son, always chewing down more resentment. In truth, though, in truth: no worth in anything he did.

I peer down at the figure, our hostage, before us. The body is shivering, such intense shaking, on those elbows and knees. Every bit of it looks shredded, every bit of it looks broken; I can't see where skin ends and bone and muscle begin.

My son leans in to where the head droops down low. He lifts up the chin to reveal a slick mask. The face is wet with purple, black with blood, caked with mess. Deep from the throat, a choking, a heaving. But, except for the trembling, there is no more movement than this.

'I have brought him to see you.' The chin is lifted higher; teeth clench to contain retching. 'Can you tell him your name?'

A jolt. The form wrenches, doubles over, vomiting air. Gagging, the body straining, now the wasted sound of a wail. Or is it a word? It sounds like a word. Some kind of word. Again and again.

If this is him, I should see a man; or a boy, at least, not past his twentieth year. But this is some other thing, a no-thing; tattered torso, scraggy limbs. My son's fine face is grim with disgust. He stands up abruptly; I see his fist pulse.

Now he turns to his father, expecting collusion. Instead, my voice soft as water. Not quite a whisper. I feel the violence in it.

'Leave us.' My son twitches in shock; he resembles a squirrel. Then, gathering composure, he draws a long breath.

'Surely I ...'

'You will leave us'. My voice, a remote rumble; a thunder to come.

'Yes, of course'. A tense hesitation. Then, turns, leaves with swift steps. My son will not return, and I am left with the thing.

I stand, stiff, for a moment, then I crouch down. The thing, once a boy, is still on its knees. This thing, still a boy; still those chattering teeth.

I say, 'He is not here'.

My voice, so close to the ear; he grovels in terror, near-demented with fear.

I say, 'He is not here'.

He is losing control; my voice soft as water.

'He is not here'.

He is trying, so badly trying, not to collapse in on himself.

I have seen enough.

**Two**

* * *

How long will it be? Will it be long?

Do not cry.

I can't help it.

Do not cry! Stupid. Stupid.

I can't help it. I'm trying.

Stop it. Just stop it.

I can't wait much longer. Please let him be here.

Stop crying. Stop crying! Little fuck. Little cunt.

When will he be here?

You need to stop crying. Stupid, so stupid.

When will he be here?

You like it you like it.

When will he be here?

Wait. You must wait.

I can't please I can't. I just can't any longer.

Stop it! You cunt. You like it you like it.

When will he be here? Please let him come.

You need to stop crying. Close your mouth. Close your mouth.

When will he come?

Grit your teeth. Keep them shut.

When will he come?

Keep them shut. Keep them shut. I know you can do it.

When will he come?

You need to be calm. Still your breath. Still your breath.

I'm trying I'm trying. Please I'm trying I'm trying!

I know. You are trying. That is good. Still your breath.

When will he come?

Try not to think of it.

When will he come?

It will be soon. Just a bit longer. You must keep them shut.

When will he come?

He will come. He will come.

**Three**

* * *

I don't know where I am. It is dark, just so dark. I can't see a thing. It is dark. Just so dark. I can't fucking see. Where have they put me? It stinks, fucking stinks. I cannot abide it. I am angry, so angry. So fucking angry. What is he thinking? He can't do this. He can't do this. He can't do this to me. I am so fucking angry. That fucker. That fucker. What is he thinking? I can't take this stink. It fucking stinks. What is he doing. What is he doing? And how can they let him? They all know who I am? This stink, I can't take it. This is not me - I am not him. I am angry, so angry. I just can't fucking see. I can't take this stink. I am not him. I am not him. I cannot abide it. I am not him. I am not him.

**One**

* * *

The first time that I held him, I thought I had killed him. His whole body in seizure; I didn't think it would end. And then: no more thrashing, no more flailing, no more moving. Just stillness; so heavy; not a whisper of breath. So I held him, and held him, and thought what to do. I did not know what to do. I had not wanted ... this.

Then a murmur, a tremor; I felt at his neck. There was something, there was something, so quick and so light. I could not believe it. This boy, still not dead! This boy, so much horror; and still more to take. They said he was weak. A weak little fuck. I heard them; they did not know it. A weak, weeping fuck.

I held him, and held him, and thought what to do. This boy, still not dead. So I brought him here.

**Two**

* * *

He's coming. I can hear him. I can hear him. He's coming.

You need to get out. He must not find you here.

But he said I could be here. He said that I could.

You need to get out! He must not find you here.

He said that I could. Be under here. He said it he said it.

It might be a trick!

But he said that I could. He said that I could!

If he tricks you it will hurt you. You need to get out.

He said that I could. He said it he said it.

He's here. It's too late! He's here oh he's here.

I can't move I can't move. He'll find me here!

He's here oh he's here! 

I can't move I can't move. What do I do?

Just stay under here. Stay under here.

I need to get out! If it's a trick he will hurt me.

He won't hurt you. He won't hurt you.

But it might be a trick!

Hush! Listen. He's speaking. You must listen to him.

I can't. I'm too frightened! What is he saying?

You need to listen.

I don't know what he's saying!

Listen oh listen. Just listen to him.

I can't hear him! I can't hear him!

It's because you are crying. You need to stop crying.

I can't oh I can't! I know that he'll hear me!

You just need to listen. He won't hurt you for crying.

But it might be a trick! It might be a trick! I can't hear him I can't hear him!

He won't make you. He won't hurt you. When has he hurt you?

It's too late it's too late!

He won't hurt you. He won't.

He will oh he will.

No. He won't hurt you. He won't hurt you. He won't!

It's too late. It's too late. He's here oh he's here.

**Three**

* * *

I am unbelievably cold. Unbelievably cold. I don't think I can stand it. How long have I been here? It is so fucking cold. How long has it been? It is so fucking cold. I don't think I can stand it. How long will it be? So fucking cold. And that stink. It still stinks. I cannot abide it. At least I can see. What is there to see? Just this room bleak as fuck. There is no one else here. I need to get warmer. I need to keep warm. There is no one else here. I need to keep calm. I need to keep angry. How long will it be? I cannot be afraid. There is no one else here. I need to keep warm. There is no one else here. I cannot be afraid. At least I can see.

**One**

* * *

I know what they say but, in truth, let them say it. I am not like my son, for he is nothing like me. I hear them, the murmurs, and yet I do nothing. No: not nothing. My son, bastard son. He is nothing like me. My son, he is nothing; he is nothing to me.

Here, on the floor, I feel the form sleeping. Sleeping, just sleeping; quiet and so still. Thin, still so thin; I feel his ribs rising. The first time I held him, I thought I had killed him. But here he is; I brought him here.

Still so thin, but not so much of a thing.

A boy; not a thing.

I will not think of my son.

A thing; not a boy. Perhaps he is sleeping. The first time I held him ...

I will not think of my son.

**Two**

* * *

I wish I could speak. I just can't remember.

You used to. You used to.

I just can't remember. I wish he would make me. Then I could remember.

But you know he won't make you.

I just can't remember.

Think. What would you say? If you could remember?

I don't know. I don't know. I wish he would make me.

You know he won't make you.

I wish that he would.

You wish he would make you?

I don't know. I don't know.

You know he won't hurt you. When has he hurt you?

I wish I could ask him.

What would you ask him?

You know what I would.

But he wouldn't. He wouldn't. And you know he won't hurt you.

I wish I could ask him.

He won't give you that.

Why do you think you are here?

I don't know. I don't know.

Why won't he hurt you?

I don't know. I don't know.

What does he want?

I don't want to know.

Then what would you ask him?

I don't want to be here. I just don't any more.

But you're safe. He won't hurt you!

I just don't any more.

Where would you be?

I don't want to be here.

Here? Under here?

I don't want to be anywhere.

But you know he won't hurt you.

I just don't want to be anywhere.

Then you need to remember. Do you think that you can? I will try. I will try.

Do you think that you can?

I will try to remember.

Do you think he will help me?

You know he won't hurt you.

But he will if I ask?

**Three**

* * *

My father is an incredibly sick fuck. But of course so am I. I never wanted to be anything else. The difference, you see, and I know you can see it, is that my father thinks that I am sick, and that I am a fuck. But he would tell you, or no doubt already has told you, that he never suffers from sickness. Not even a sniffle. Ha! And that he is too busy to fuck. No, no fucking for him! Not even one swift, sneaky fuck! Except he fucks with my brain. Always and forever. He fucks it, and fucks it, until I am bloody. The pleasure must be exquisite. I long to taste it, to hold it on my tongue, to swallow it whole, to feel it writhe and roil in my guts. I long to taste it, to suck it, to feel it, to fuck it. Surely the fuck of all fucks? He thinks I am sick. Ha! He thinks I am deviant, disgusting, degenerate, depraved. I would think of more words - debased is another - but in truth I am tired. It is hard to sleep in this hole. How long have I been here? How long has it been? He has left me to rot, yes? Is that what he has told you? Will you tell him this? I am already rotton! Ha! Actually I do seem to be rotting. I am not in good shape. Is that the stink? How proud he must feel, to think of me now. The fuck of all fucks. I do so love to be bloody. Dearest Father, do tell me, was I good?

**One**

* * *

Every day, every morning, the old man comes to see us. He comes for the boy; I never leave them alone.

The first time that he came, the boy had long been unconscious; the old man, pale with pity; he said it would not be long. But this boy, still not dead! I still thought him a thing.

The second time that he came ... Such startling terror. The boy, scrambling, sobbing; again that hideous word. I asked the old man: why such fear from your presence? He insisted, of course, that the boy was deranged. Gone insane, had the boy; gone quite mad from the pain.

The third time that he came, I held him and held him, to stop all the scrabbling. That horrible word, again and again. The old man looked less rattled: the poor boy, quite insane. But he was a healer, a helper, and he could help with the pain. He washed him, and rubbed him, and spent so much time on his body. He spent so much time, and I admired the old man. I said hush, you must hush, you must not be afraid.

The fourth time that he came, the boy had no scrabbling left in him. Still I held him and held him, supine and sobbing, as the old men did his work. He washed him, and rubbed him; so careful and calm. The boy, so afraid, for he was mad from the pain.

The fifth time that he came, there was nothing; no sobbing. Just silence, and stillness; the poor boy, quite insane. But I held him and held him and watched the old man. So careful and calm; no suggestion of pity. I watched the old man and knew why he had gone pale.

Every day, every morning, the old man comes to see us. He comes for the boy. I do not leave them alone.

**Two**

* * *

I think he's asleep. His breathing is slow. I need to piss. What should I do?

Just do it down here.

I can't do it down here. He'd find it and ...

You've done it before!

Yes but I don't want to. I'd feel ashamed.

You'd feel ashamed? You don't know how.

I do. I know how. But I need to piss.

Wake him then. Wake him.

I don't dare to wake him!

Then do it down here.

No! I'd feel ashamed. But I don't dare to wake him.

Then you need to get out then. From under his bed. He's asleep he won't hear you.

I don't know I don't know. I can't wait much longer.

Then get out. He won't hear you.

I will. But I'm scared.

You don't need to be scared.

I am. But I'll do it. I don't dare to wake him.

You don't need to be scared.

Where do I go?

You know where it is. It is just over there.

I have done it! I have done it!

You have done it! You have done it! Now back under the bed.

I am back! And I did it! Do you think he will hurt me?

Why would he hurt you?

He will know what I did.

But you know he won't hurt you. And you don't have to be down here.

I forgot that I don't. But do you think that he will?

You know that he won't.

But one day he will.

One day is not now. One day is for later.

He says 'not today - today I won't hurt you'.

But he says 'not today' so that you don't think it's a trick.

Do you think that is why?

I don't know I don't know. You don't think it's a trick?

If it is then it's for later. For now you must sleep.

Yes I do want to sleep.

Just listen to his breathing and you will fall asleep.

**Three**

* * *

I must confess that - before now - I had not known that shit can eat flesh. I had known that eaten flesh turns to shit but not that shit eats into flesh. So does piss for that matter. Who knew that piss could be painful? I am starting to rot. The rotting is painful and I wish I could wash. Although I do get to eat. But now I am afraid to shit. So I am afraid to eat. I eat in that corner and shit in that other. I know you don't want to look. Neither do I. And we can both smell that stink. I wish I could wash and I am afraid to shit. How long will it be? Will it be long? When I get out I will eviscerate that fuck. I will work out a way. I can feel it and taste it. It will be exquisite. I do so love to be bloody. Would you like to watch? I know how much you would love to. Although you would never admit it! Hah! I wish you could have seen us. It was pretty impressive if I do say so myself. I am pretty inventive. And of course he was just pretty - although not so much now. One day I will tell you about it. Now, don't be shy. But we must do a trade. Will you tell me about him? Is he alive - is he well? I know that is a relative concept. How I long to be with him. Just a few more hours at a push. I am pretty inventive. Now, don't be shy. I know how much you would love it. So - yes - we must do a trade?

**One**

* * *

Yes, I am exhausted; I am worn in and torn through. I am tired of the terror and I am tired of the tears. I know he can't help it; I do know that he can't. But it is taking its toll and this boy, still not dead. They said he was weak. Instead, he grows stronger; not nearly so thin. He no longer looks shredded; his skin looks like skin. That mask, now a face; raw-boned but not ruined. His skin looks like skin, and his face like a face. But I am tired of the terror and I am tired of the tears. Every day, full of horror. I am tired of it all.

On top of the horror, the masterful work of my son, I am to keep it all running, to keep all of it running, and it is running me down. They all look to me, and I keep up the running. I cannot look up: I have no-one to look to. So I just look at him. I watch his skin grow; it grows back on itself. And I wish, how I wish, that I could just give him back. But it is too late for that. Besides, they don't want him back: I had not counted on that, but I had not wanted this. So this, all of this: this is all that there is.

I try not to think so, but he is still so much of a thing. A thing in boy's skin. A thing that is always in terror, or listless, or hiding. The thing under my bed. Yes, I am exhausted. But, still: still a boy. It is under his skin. I had not wanted this but this is all that there is. I want him to grow; to grow back on himself. He is under there, hiding; hiding under his skin. Hiding under my bed. Hiding under the thing. I know he is there, and he knows I can sense him. Perhaps that is why so much terror. Why does he hide? What will I find there, under all of that skin?


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

* * *

I knew that he'd hurt me, and he hurt me today. I don't think that he meant to. He held me, and shook me, just for a moment. It hurt just a little. It did not really hurt. I felt very afraid, and he looked very pale. He said he was sorry, he did not want to hurt me. It did not really hurt, and he looked very pale. He said he was sorry, he did not mean to hurt me. I don't know, I don't know. I don't think that he did.

Then I said a word. At least, I tried. I tried to say my old name. It was all I could think of. I wanted to say he hadn't hurt me, but it wouldn't come out. So I tried something different, to say my old name. It wouldn't come out, but he saw that I tried. He did not look so pale. I felt very sick.

He said, 'You're trying to speak. Can you try again?' I shook my head, no. I felt very sick.

He said, 'Do you need to be sick?'

I shook my head, no. But I felt very sick.

He said, 'This is good. You are trying, I didn't think that you could. Did I hurt you, and scare you?'

I shook my head, no. I felt very weak.

He said, 'This is good. I am sorry I shook you. I am very tired, and I don't want to hurt you'.

I shook my head, no. I wish I could speak. I think that's why he shook me. He didn't want to hurt me, and he looked very pale. He looked very tired. I wish I could speak.

He said, 'I am very tired. I'm afraid that I scared you, but I need to sleep. Do you want to go back under?'

I shook my head, no. I felt very sick.

He looked very pale, and then brought me up here.

**Three**

* * *

Every moment that passes, I think of his name. Sometimes I speak it - it is all I can think of. It is all that I want - that irresistible name. Oh, how he would say it - how could I resist it? He would say it, and say it, and I could not resist it. I just wanted to hear it - to hear how he would say it. Oh, how he would say it - I do so long to hear it. Sometimes I speak it, just to hear how it sounds. How I long just to taste it. To suck it. To fuck it. To suck it and fuck it, right out of his mouth. I imagine him screaming and sometimes I scream. Sometimes we gasp it - oh, so much pleasure. The fuck of all fucks. But, however I try, it just isn't the same. I need to be bloody, it helps me to feel it. I imagine him here, and what I would say. I think, and I think, about what he would say. It is all that I want, but I need to be bloody. Without all of that, it just isn't the same. I need it, to feel it. I say it, and say it, and say it again.

**One**

* * *

I wish I could ask him what he was once like. Who was he, once, before becoming this thing? I don't dare to ask him because of the fear. Simply put, I can't face it; it has worn me out, worn me down. I am worn in and torn through; I know I will hurt him the next time it happens. I know that I mustn't but I just cannot face it. I am afraid of his fear and I am afraid of myself. I need to stop it before I can't stop myself.

I know all of this because I have already hurt him. Or, I wanted to hurt him, to make him remember. I wanted to hurt him: to hurt him and hit him. I wanted to make him ... to make him grow back. I know he is under there, hiding, and hidden. I wanted to hit him, and I didn't want to stop.

All of this ... So much weakness. I despise myself for it; am I truly so weak? How will he grow back, if he can't remember? How will he remember, if I don't dare to ask? And how can I ask him, if I'm afraid of myself? I wanted to hit him, but I didn't ... I didn't. I can't be afraid of all of this fear. If I hurt him ... then I hurt him. I will just need to stop. He is under there, hiding ... I will just need to stop.

**Two**

* * *

Do you think he's asleep yet?

I don't know. But I think so.

Don't move just in case.

I don't want to move. His breathing is slow. His arm feels so heavy. Do you think he's asleep?

I don't know, I don't know.

His breathing is slow.

Don't move just in case.

I don't want to move. But please can I ask you, can I ask you a question?

Are you sure that you want to?

I think that I want to. But will you be angry? If I ask you the question?

You know that I won't. But are you sure that you want to?

Yes, I do want to. And you won't be angry?

You know that I won't.

Always, he does this? Why does he do this? What is it for?

It's to keep you from crying. It helps you to stop.

I don't know, I don't know. Today I wasn't crying?

He doesn't like you crying. It makes him go pale.

I know. I can't help it. I don't want him to go pale. But today I wasn't crying?

You don't like him to hold you?

I do ... I do like it. It keeps me from crying. But ... Why does he do this? I don't understand?

He doesn't want to hurt you.

But that would keep me from crying? I don't understand?

He doesn't want to hurt you. So he does this.

But how can he touch me? How can he stand it?

But all of them touch you. All of them did.

But that was to hurt me. To keep me crying. How can he stand it? I don't understand?

You need to stop asking. Try not to think of it.

I'm trying. I'm trying. But all of them touched me ... How can he stand it?

Try not to think of it. You know that you mustn't!

Please don't be angry. I'm sorry I'm sorry

Hush. Try not to think of it. Hush, you must hush.

I will stop. I have stopped. His arm feels so heavy.

Good! This is good. See, he's not woken.

How can he stand it?

Try not to think of it.

His arm feels so heavy. His breathing is slow. Try not to move.

I will try not to think of it.

Just don't move, just don't move.

I will try to stay still.

**Three**

* * *

I do wonder if they're fucking yet. Now, don't be shy. It's the whole reason I chose him. I just got him ... ready. My father hasn't mentioned it? No, I didn't think that he would. But he does love them pretty. He's pretty specific. He really hasn't mentioned it? No, I ought not be surprised. But, fuck: when I first saw him, I couldn't quite believe it. Just incredible, that face. I wish you could have seen him. Such an incredible face. It took quite a lot not to strip off that face. I am pretty inventive. Oh I can taste it now - what I'd have done. Or, indeed, what I'll do - a few more hours at a push. If pushed I can work quickly. Peel off the nose. Snip off the lips. Clip off the ears. Rip out the cheeks. The tongue I would leave, to suck out that name. Oh that incredible tongue - I am tasting it now. I lick it and suck it and fuck out that name. Gods now I'm sweating. I am tasting it now. How I long to spend so much more time on that face. Of course the rest of him too. There are so many ... bits that have yet to be touched. So many bits ... I do so love to fuck. Oh don't get me wrong, we had plenty of fun. I am pretty inventive, even under such strict limits. But I do wonder ... are they yet fucking? No, I know you can't tell me. But I do wonder if he's been ... able to wait. He does love them pretty. It's the whole reason I chose him. I just got him ready. After all, all of this: it's all been for him. He really hasn't mentioned it? No, I didn't think that he would.

**One**

* * *

I do consider myself an honourable man. I won't deny that, at times, I don't know quite what that means. What does it mean, quite specifically? Under what conditions does one warrant the term? What does it mean not to warrant it? Does it require, quite specifically, a lack of dishonour? Or can one exist, perhaps even live, perhaps even with comfort, in the gaps? I used to know all of this quite specifically. Now the specifics are slipping. But, if not an honourable man, then what might I be? I need the specifics. What might it mean, to be slipping?

What I find particularly tiring, particularly trying, and particularly troubling is the lack of interaction. Just basic, and human; something simple. Not once has he spoken my name. Not once has he looked in my eyes. Not once has he asked me a question. Not once has he touched my skin. They say - for I hear them - that for my son he was different; I do know that this shouldn't surprise me. But for my son, there was nothing held back. Nothing left unsaid or undone. Nothing left unasked or untouched. I do know that this shouldn't surprise me. But I do find it tiring, after all of this time, all this time it has taken, all this time I have spent, that ... Well, I get nothing. After all of this time: nothing back.

Please understand me: I'm not asking for much. Just a word, or a look; something simple. Just a word, or a touch; something simple. I'm not asking for much, and ... I'm slipping. But what might it mean, to slip up? What does it mean, quite specifically? And what is hiding, here; here, under me?

**Two**

* * *

I knew that he'd hit me and he hit me today. He hit me so hard and it hurt and I cried. I cried and I cried so he hit me again. It hurt and it hurt and I cried really hard. I knew that he'd hit me and it hurt and I cried. He hit me again so I said my real name.

He didn't hit me then so I said it again.

He didn't hit me then but he breathed really hard.

I knew what that meant so I started to scream.

He didn't hit me then even though I was screaming. I can't really remember.

I screamed and I cried and I cried really hard.

I think that I did I can't really remember.

I screamed and I cried but he didn't hurt me then.

I don't think that he did I can't really remember.

He's let me down here and I'm crying and crying.

I don't think I can do this.

I knew that he'd hit me and he hit me today.

I can't really remember.

I don't think I can do this I just can't any more.

He's let me down here because I need to be hiding.

I need to be hiding but I need him to hit me.

I need him to hit me until he can't stop.

I need to stop crying and I need to stop hiding.

I need to keep screaming until he can't stop.

I need him to hit me until he can't stop.

I need to keep screaming.

I can do it I can.

I need to keep screaming. I can do it. I can.

**Three**

* * *

'Stay still. Stay still. Stay quiet. Stay quiet!'

'Stay still. Stay still! If you don't I will start over'.

'Stop crying. Stop crying! Did you hear what I said?'

'Stop crying! Such a racket. I cannot hear myself think'.

'Stay still or I will start over! Did you hear what I said?'

'Such a racket. Such a racket! I cannot hear myself think'.

'I will have to start over'.

'I know. I do know. But we are still starting over'.

'You need to calm down. You are in such a state. You need to calm down. I will wait just one moment'.

'See. I am waiting. Good. That is good'.

'Hush. That is good. I knew you could do it'.

'That is good. You are quiet. Do you think you can stay so?'

'I know. I do know. But we are still starting over'.

'I will wait one more moment. There's no point if you're like this. No point at all.'

'I know. I do know. Hush. That is good'.

'Hush. That is good. I knew you could do it'.

'Now, are you ready? Hush. That is good'.

**One**

* * *

'What else can I do?'

'This is what you wanted, yes?'

'What else can I do?'

'Don't. There's no point'.

'This must be what you wanted'.

'Just don't. There's no point'.

'I said don't!'

'What else can I do? This must be what you wanted?'

'I don't understand. Try to tell me'.

'Try harder. I don't understand'.

'No. I mean I can't understand what you're saying. Speak slowly. Try harder'.

'You are making no sense. I gave you a chance. So many chances. You never try hard enough. You never make sense'.

'How I wished you'd be ... gone by now. Such a mess. Such a mess. You even mess this up'.

'Such a mess. So disgusting'.

'Just don't. There's no point'.

**Two**

* * *

'Not to worry. Not to worry. It doesn't matter '.

'Good. That is good! You are doing so well'.

'Good. I am pleased! You are doing so well'.

'Not to worry. Not to worry'.

'Just a little bit more, yes? Just one more try?'

'Just a little bit more, yes? Good. That is good!'

'It's alright. Not to worry. No - not today'.

'It's alright. It doesn't matter. Not today. Not today'.

'No - not today. Not to worry. Not today'.

'Good. That is good! You are doing so well'.

**Three**

* * *

'Such a mess. Such a mess'.

'Look! Just the ... mess of you. You always make such a mess'.

'I will have to start over'.

'I don't understand what you're saying! There is really no point'.

'I know that you are. But what else can I do?'

'We will have to start over. What else can I do?'

**Three**

* * *

So, my father hasn't forgotten me after all. Such kindness, dear Father, to remember your one and only son. I apologise - that was thoughtless of me. I mean, of course, your one and only living son. We wouldn't, for one moment, want to forget the dead one. And, oh, what a death. It was pretty spectacular. Such a terrible waste. And my father: just destroyed. Such a terrible waste. I mean, he never once got to fuck that bitch! Not one swift, sneaky fuck! No: not that particular son. I can only imagine that this is why he's become so ... fixated on that mewling little cunt. Little fuck. Little cunt. But I suppose I can't blame him. It was the reason I chose him, as I've told you before? I did assume they'd be fucking but, no, clearly not. Instead, the most wonderful visits, with such charming regularity, to check on his son. I apologise again - his one living son. Of course, I'm always delighted to see him, sometimes so much so I can't speak. And he always brings such thoughtful gifts! I'd love to return the favour but I lack the means, in this hole. Still, he's managed to take away a couple of minor trinkets. Only of little consequence, you understand; nothing I really need. Although, at the time, I've felt pretty attached. Ha! I can't believe that I'm laughing. I can't really stop. How long have I been here? How long has it been? Actually, I find my own behaviour quite disappointing. I feel I know you well enough to speak frankly? I had always imagined that I'd have more ... fire in me. For when the time came - and I did know it would come. Indeed, I've spent a long time preparing for precisely these moments. I feel that I've put in the hours. I have practiced, learned from others. I have learned from example. But now the time's come and ... there's no fire: no, not really. Or: I do feel the fire, but it's outside, not in. It burns and it rages and it blisters my skin. But it's outside, not in. Inside there's just ... ice. Here, under my skin. Can you see it? Look closely. Can you see all that white? No, not bone. That's the ice. Can you see it, right here? I thought there'd be fire. But it's just ice. Can you see?

**Two**

* * *

Today I don't feel like crying. I don't really know why. I just don't really feel like it. Perhaps I am better? He says I am better and I don't need to cry. I don't like to cry and I want to be better. I do want to be better. I didn't think I would.

Also, the old man hasn't come for such a long time. It is days, maybe longer. I don't really know why. Perhaps I am better? I don't really know. What would it feel like? I can't really remember. Perhaps it is this. Is this what it's like? I can't really remember.

I am always afraid. It is always inside me. I can feel it, just here, just here, where I'm touching. I haven't told him about it, I don't want him to touch it. He might try to pull it, right out from inside me. I don't want him pulling or touching inside me. I just couldn't take it, any more touching. Not if it's inside me. Not even from him.

Sometimes, if I touch here, so tightly, like this, then I think I can ... pull it, right out from inside me. I think that I can but then I can't take it. I try and I try but it's inside of me, hiding. It goes further and further and further within.

I wish he would cut it out.

I think I could bear that, if it was just cutting. But he won't. He just won't.

I wish I could ask him, but he won't, he just won't.

He says I am better. And today I'm not crying. But I feel it, inside me. I don't think I can take it, not for much longer.

I wish I could cut it out. But I can't, I just can't.

At least when there's pain, I can't feel it, inside me. That's when it's outside me, not hiding within. If there's pain it's outside me, right on top of my skin.

I wish I could ask him, but he won't, he just won't. I don't think I can take it, not for much longer.

I wish ... he was here.

No, not him.

I wish he was here.

He would help me. He would.

He would do it. He would.

I need to find him.

But how do I find him?

I need to stop crying and I need to be better. Then I can find him. He would do it. He would.

I need to find him. Then he will help me. Do you think, if I ask him, do you think that he will?

**One**

* * *

Dearest Sister

Please do forgive my neglect; it is too, too long since last I wrote.

Dearest, you will know how terribly busy I have been. I can barely keep up, it is true. I know that you worry so, but I am in excellent health, and spirits. I am just so terribly busy, but well.

How do you fare, my sweet Sister? How are your lungs; still a struggle? You know that I worry so. Plenty of walks, and good food. I hope to visit you soon and wish to hear of all the walks you have taken and all the good food you have eaten. No protestations, beloved Sister; I have so much that is of worry and need my little bird to remain well.

How is my nephew; still charming his mother with every breath? Such a beautiful child; such a delight. I know that, come a man, he will do his uncle proud. Will you tell him that I will bring him a gift, perhaps a knife of sorts? And a wooden horse; of course his mother will be anxious of him falling off it. But, dearest, that is the only way he will learn.

I bring no news of your nephew but the boy is much better; he speaks now, if sparsely. He is able to wash himself, and dress. He still avoids eye contact at all costs, and remains in my room at all times. I need to think of a way to coax him out. I have tried force and it ended badly. You did warn me of that, albeit gently. Can you advise me, dearest, on what I might do? Perhaps, now he speaks, I could try reason? What do you suppose I could say?

Sweet Sister, I miss your presence and your counsel and these past months have seen such horror. How I wish I could have had your wisdom; perhaps all of this could have been prevented. I act as if sure-footed and I fear that soon I will stumble. I feel unsure, and alone, without my Sister. I will visit you soon, I do swear it. Then you can tell your brother what a fool he has been, and where best he could turn. But, dearest, I cannot come until the boy is well enough; it is not safe to leave him here and he has seen such horror already. But he grows stronger, daily, and I am confident that we can travel very soon.

Yours, always

Your devoted Brother

**Three**

* * *

I know that, soon, I will begin to think like him. I already look like him, I smell like him, I sound like him, I cry like him. I still have my own name. That is something.

**Two**

* * *

For the first time, I ask him a question. I ask, 'How long have I been here?'

It takes me a long time to ask him. I have to concentrate very hard, otherwise I panic. If I concentrate very hard, then I don't panic.

It takes him a long time to answer. He says, 'A long time. Too long'.

Then he says, 'You shouldn't be here at all'.

I don't know what that means, and it makes me curl up.

Then he says, 'No, not here, in this room. Here you are safe, and I won't make you leave'.

He is rubbing my back, so I don't curl up further. I concentrate very hard so that I don't panic.

Then he says, 'Do you want me to help you? To help you to leave?'

I don't know what this means so I shake my head, no.

He takes a long time. Then he says, 'Here you are safe, and I won't make you leave'.

It makes me curl up, because I do want to leave.

**One**

* * *

He reminds me so much of my sister. Even now, even like this. I tell him lies to comfort him, sometimes. If it gets too much. I tell him that he will not always be here, that he can learn to be better. I tell him that I will help him, and that he just needs to learn. In return he tells me he's trying, that he will learn to be better. He's telling me that now. In truth I am barely listening. Today I don't feel like lying. And I won't offer comfort. Not today. Not today.

I don't tell him the truth. That I won't let him leave. That here he will stay. If I tell him, it will break him. I don't want him to be broken. I want him to keep trying. But today I don't feel like lying. No, not today.

So I tell him one truth: that today I am leaving, that I will be gone for some time. For days, maybe weeks. And that he'll be alone.

He is taking it badly. I knew that he would. I ought to offer comfort. But today I don't feel like lying. So instead I leave him here.

**Three**

* * *

I did think, I did hope, that I could keep up the anger. That I could keep angry. Through all of this. I try and I try but I can't seem to stay angry. It is hard, to stay angry. I can't keep it up. Without it, without it ... Without it I'm frightened. I feel it, so frightened. I don't think I can stand it. I have always felt frightened. That's why I keep angry. So that I can stand it. And now I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't! I can't stand it much longer. And I'm cold, just so cold. I am cold, it is biting. It cuts and it slices and it tears and ... It hurts. It hurts me. It hurts! Please let me be angry. I need it. I need it. Please let me be angry. I need it. I need it. I can't stand it. I can't. I can't keep up the anger. I can't keep it up. It is cold, it is biting. I'm alone. I'm alone. I don't think I can stand it. Please let him come. How long have I been here? How long will it be? Please let him come. Please let him come.

**Two**

* * *

He's gone. He's gone. He has. He has.

I didn't cry when he told me. I didn't even feel frightened.

I felt glad. I did.

I wanted him gone.

He is kind, always kind. He always comforts me, holds me. I thought he would hurt me but he hasn't, he hasn't.

I just want him gone.

He thinks that he helps me but he doesn't know how.

He doesn't know who I am, or what I might want. He doesn't know how to ask me, I don't know how to tell him.

I heard him, once, say it. He thinks I'm a thing. But I'm not a thing. I'm not. I am different.

I am somebody different and I know I'm not weak.

I thought that I was. I thought I was weak. And stupid, so stupid. 'Stupid boy, stupid boy.' 'Such a weak little fuck.' Over and over. Again and again. And hurting me ... Hurting. Over and over. Again and again. Every part of me broken. Every part. Every part. Every part of me, broken. Outside and in.

I can't really remember. I try not to think of it. I know I'm not weak.

They loved it. They loved it.

I know I'm not weak.

I know it. I know it.

Every part. Every part.

Here. I am here.

**One**

* * *

I worry. I worry. I can't help but worry. I try not to worry, and not about her. She is ill, very ill, and soon I will see her. She is strong, very strong, and I know she will make it. But I worry. I worry. I worry about him.

I wish he was with me. He just couldn't face it. I have not left him alone; I have made so many arrangements. People to tend to him; whatever he needs. But he is not safe. I know it. I know it. He is still so unwell, after all of that horror. He has seen so much horror, and I can't take it back. So I worry. I worry. Will he be safe? What will I return to; will I return to that thing?

I have made so many arrangements. If anyone hurts him, touches him, scares him ... Well, they know the arrangements. They still speak of my son. And they know ... They all know. That I would do it to them.

But still I worry. I worry. I worry about him. He thinks I don't know what he wants me to do. Every day, every day, he wants so much to ask me. But he can't, and I won't, and I won't let him ask me. I worry. I worry. About what he will do. He won't stay in the room. I know that he won't. He says that he will but I know it, I know it. I have said he can leave, he can leave any moment. I hope if I say it that then he won't do it. That he won't feel so caged in and will stay in the room. But I know that he won't. I know it, I know it. I know he will leave; he's been biding his time. He will leave, and go looking, to find out a way.

I have made so many arrangements. No-one must hurt him, or touch him, or scare him. But he's been biding his time. And I know he's not weak.

I have made so many arrangements. But I worry. I worry. Of what I will return to. I worry. I worry. I worry about him.

**Three**

* * *

There is somebody here. Here, in the room. I can see them. Just there. Over there, in that corner. A shape. A dark shape. There, in the shadows. Can you see it, the shape? I think it's a person. Do you think it's a person? I can't make it out. It looks like it's ... crouching. Huddled, and crouching. I can't see it move. I can't hear it breathe. I am still as a rabbit. And frightened, so frightened. I wish it would move. I wish it would speak. I can't hear it breathing. Do you think it is dead? Is a dead thing here with me? I wish it would move. I wish I could speak. Is it dead, a dead thing? I am so very frightened. I don't want it in here. I don't want it here. If I close my eyes, tight ... If I close my eyes tight ... If I close my eyes tight then it won't be in here with me. I close my eyes tight, and I am still as a rabbit. I close my eyes tight and am still, very still.

**Two**

* * *

There is always someone outside. Outside the door. I can sense them, and hear them. Sometimes a cough. Sometimes a fart. Other times they knock, a sharp knock on the door. My whole body jolts, and then I go still. I wait, and don't move, and don't speak, and don't breathe. Then the door opens, and someone comes in. I don't dare to look. I don't dare to breathe. I feel them move past me, and I close my eyes tight. I hear a dull thud, of metal on wood. My whole body jolts, but then I breathe in. And, as they move past, I breathe in the smell. The smell of their sweat, the smell of their skin. And their skin doesn't smell ... of puking, or blood. Of pissing, or shitting, or begging, or pain. They don't stop, and crouch down, and lean in, and speak softly. They don't come in closer, to touch me, or taste me, or tell me what they will do. They just move past me, quickly, and I hear the door close.

And, when the door closes, I smell the food they have brought. And water. And soap. And clean clothes. Other things, too. Like a book, and a comb ... Different things, every day. And I touch them, and taste them, and breathe in their smell. And I think that I might ... that I might be stronger. Stronger, I think. Stronger than this.

**One**

* * *

My sister is ... smaller. She has always been small. But now she is smaller ... Small, and so still. She is always asleep. I don't dare to wake her. She knows I am here. Here. I am here.

**Three**

* * *

I am shrivelling, shrivelled. I am twisted, and torn. My muscles are bone. My skin is ... no matter. My muscles, they ache. I feel like I am ... gnarling. Is that a word? I mean I am ... drying out, caving in. I am knotted, and curled up, and shrunken, and ugly. I am all of these things. And all of it hurts. I am drying up. Dying. I know I am dying. I know that I am. And he is over there, watching. I know he is watching. I can see him, just there. Just there, in the shadows. Why is he watching? Why won't he speak? I speak to him, sometimes. I tell him his name. I tell him. I tell him. I tell him his name. Why won't he speak? Why won't he answer? Sometimes I scream it, but still he won't answer. Sometimes I cry and I beg him to say it. I beg him to tell me. To tell me his name. I cry, and I scream, but still he won't say it. I say it, and say it, and say it again.

**Two**

* * *

I am ready. I am ready. I am sick of all this. I am sick of the terror. I am sick of the piss. I wake up in it, drenched. As if I'm a child. I am tired of the pity. I am tired of the dreams. I am tired of the aching from curling up tight. I am tired of the shame, and the hunger, and waiting. I don't want to be this. I don't want to be this.

I'm not a child. I am somebody different.

I wish he was here. But he isn't. He isn't.

I'm not a child. I am ready. I am.

I will do it. I will do it. I will do it, today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2021 Me: So ... I probably shouldn't bring this up but ... the whole 'Roose's sister' thing ...??  
> 2014 Me:  
> 2021 Me: I mean ... was there a particular reason or something?  
> 2014 Me:  
> 2021 Me: 'Cos, she just then kind of disappears completely? After you'd weirdly introduced her for no apparent reason?  
> 2014 Me:  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

* * *

I used to ... I used to ... I used to be different. I was somebody different. I was somebody ... else? I can't really remember. I can't really remember. It was somewhere that was different. It wasn't this place. It was some other place? I can't really remember. I felt very different. I felt very ... frightened. I think I was frightened? I think it was me? I don't know. I don't know. I can't really remember. There was somebody with me. Somebody here. Here, I was here? He called me a name. He called me a name and said I had to say it. Or did he have to say it? I can't really remember. I can't remember the name. I think he had to say it? Was all of that real? I think that I was ... I was somebody different. I had my own name. I had my own name. I can't really remember. I didn't try to remember. To remember my name. I didn't think I would need to. But how am I here? How long will it be? I need to remember. I need to remember. I need to remember. To remember the name.

**Two**

* * *

You know that you can. You know you can do it.

I can't please I can't! I can't do it. I can't!

You can. Yes you can. Just open the door.

I can't please I can't. I can't please I can't!

You know that you can. Just open the door.

I don't want to. I don't want to. Please let me hide.

You don't need to hide. You just need to do it.

I'm frightened! I'm frightened!

Try not to think of it. Just try to stay calm.

Please I'm so frightened!

Just try to stay calm.

I will try to stay calm.

That is good! That is good!

I will try to stay calm. I can do it I can.

I know you can do it.

I can do it I can. I am doing it now!

You've done it! You've done it! Now you need to step out.

I don't think that I can.

You can. You can do it.

I am doing it now. I feel like I'm falling.

Just try to stay calm. Take one step, then another.

There is somebody here!

Just don't even look. He said you could be here.

I will not look up. I feel like I'm falling.

Just try to stay calm. One step, then another.

I want to be sick.

Try not to think of it. Keep going. Keep going.

I don't know where I'm going. Where am I going?

You need to go down. Down. It is down.

Where do I go?

There! There's the stairs. You need to go down.

I want to be sick.

Keep going. Keep going.

One step, then another.

That is good. That is good.

One step, then another.

Keep going. Keep going.

Where do I go?

Just keep going down.

**Two**

* * *

I know this place now. I want to be sick.

Keep going. Keep going. Don't even look up.

I know where I am. I don't think I can do this.

You need to keep going. Just don't look up.

There are people here, watching. Before they were talking.

What are they saying?

Now they're not talking. Before they were talking.

What were they saying?

I don't know. I don't know. I want to be sick. Please let me hide!

He said you could be here. He said that you could.

He said they won't hurt me.

He said it. He said it.

What if it is a trick?

You know that it isn't. You know they won't hurt you.

I need to keep going.

Down. Just go down.

**Two**

* * *

I know where I am. Please I need to hide!

You need to keep going.

But you must let me hide!

One step, then another.

I can't please I can't!

You need to keep going.

Please I'm so frightened ...

Just try not to think of it.

I don't think I can do this.

Try not to think of it.

One step, then another. I'm trying. I'm trying.

You are doing so well.

One step, then another. One step, then another.

Don't even look up.

One step, then another. I need to be sick ...

No matter. No matter. It doesn't matter.

No matter. No matter. He said it he said it.

One step, then another. You need to keep going.

I can do it I can. I can do it. I can.

You can. You can do it.

I need to keep going.

One step, then another.

I need to keep going.

One step, then another.

One step, then another.

One step, then another.

Here. I am here.

**Three**

* * *

White white white there's white coming in it is ice can you see it? Can you see did you see it? It is ice coming in no it's ice no don't touch it. Don't look no don't touch it! Hide you must hide. Move move move yes you can. Hide hide hide and don't look. No don't look no don't look. Hide hide hide it's alright. It's alright it's alright hide no don't move. Hide and stay still. Close your eyes close them tight. Close your eyes keep them shut. Keep them shut keep them shut. Don't look no don't look. He's here oh he's here. Grit your teeth. Keep them shut. You can yes you can. It's alright yes you can. Here oh he's here.

**Two**

* * *

It is dark. Just so dark. I can't see I can't see. Oh please let me leave ...

You need to go in. You need to go in.

Oh please it's so dark!

You need to go in. It's how he will find you ...

Oh please I don't want to!

But this is why you have come here. So that he will.

I can't oh I can't!

But you need him to find you. It's the way it's the way!

Oh please I don't want to ... I don't want to. I don't!

Hush. It's alright. Hush. You must hush ...

Hush! There is movement!

There is somebody in there?

Hush! There is movement ... There. Over there!

There is! There is movement ...

There is somebody in there!

There is somebody in there ... Leave. You must leave!

No! I can't leave ... There is somebody in there ...

Please you must leave!

I am going inside. There is somebody in there.

It is dark and they're moving ...

I am going inside. They're there, in the corner.

The stink ... I can't bear it.

Don't think of the stink.

It is dark, just so dark.

It looks like a thing ... A thing, not a man.

I am frightened so frightened!

A man, not a thing ...?

Don't touch it don't touch it!

A man, not a thing.

But where is his skin?

His skin ... is that ... skin?

Please please oh don't touch it!

His face ... is ... that ... skin?

**Three**

* * *

He is here. He is here. He is touching my skin. The skin on my ... face. The skin on my ... face. Is there ... a face? Is there still skin? His fingers are ice. His fingers are burning. I can't bear it I can't. His fingers are burning ... I can't bear the touch. I can't bear the touching. 'Please,' I say. 'Please,'

**Two**

* * *

I say, 'Please. You must stand. I can't lift you alone'.

I say, 'Please. I'm too ... Please. I can't lift you alone'.

I say, 'Please, I can't lift you. I can't leave you alone'.

I say, 'Please', and I remember, I remember that word.

I remember that word, and I remember that I can't say it.

And then I hear him say it. 'Please,' he says. 'Please,'

**One**

* * *

I am speechless with anger. I knew he'd be gone. I knew it; I knew it! Why didn't I stop it? I knew he'd be gone! Stupid, so stupid! Why didn't I stop it? I knew he would do it? Stupid! So stupid! I am angry, so angry. I need to calm down. If I'm like this I will hurt him. I am aching to hurt him. It is all I can think of. Of what I might do. I can feel it, and taste it. I don't think I can stop it. I need to calm down. I will find him; I will.

**Two**

* * *

I keep believing he might be dead but, if I put my ear to his chest, I can hear a faint beat. I should want him dead; that way I could leave him. But I don't want him dead. He is pale, and so thin, his face caked with mess. There are bits of him missing - two fingers, at least. The stink of him, too - I ought not to bear it. But I can, I can bear it. In fact I don't mind it. I know I should kill him, if I wanted to help him. And I do want to help him, but I don't want him dead. And so soon I will wake him, and force him to walk. It hurts him so badly, but we don't have a choice. We need to keep moving, to find a way out. All there is here is trees, and it gets darker and darker. We will find a way out, we just need to keep moving. I am waking him now. He shudders and stirs, and it hurts him so badly. I am hauling him up, and forcing him forward. He stumbles and sobs and I remember, I remember. But I know I'm not weak, and I will work out a way.

**Three**

* * *

It is dark, just so dark. Where is he taking me? Where are we going? It is dark, just so dark. I am frightened, so frightened. Where are we going? What will he do? He is pulling me forward, it hurts and I stumble. He pulls me along, and I cry, and I'm falling. He pulls me back up and I am frightened, so frightened. But I don't dare to beg him, to ask him to stop. I just want to stop. I want it to stop. But I don't dare to ask him, I just cry and I stumble. Where is he taking me? What will he do?

**One**

* * *

The air tastes of copper; there's the stink of wet mud. I breathe it all in. The air tastes of blood. It is dark, and it's raining, and I should send out the dogs. But I'm not ready to find them; I'm not ready yet. I haven't worked it out, quite what I will do. I need to fine tune it, to have gone through the steps. I haven't fine tuned it. Each muscle, each bone, each shuddering limb. Each finger, each toe, each inch of his skin. Each lip, each tooth, each eye, each inch ... Each inch of his skin. Such fine calibrations. I can feel it within. I need to be under. To be under his skin. I'm not ready to find him ... I breathe it all in.

**Two**

* * *

He stumbles, again, and I think I will hit him. Every step, every fall, and I know I should leave him. I know I should hit him, hard, with a rock. But I don't, I don't hit him. And I know we must stop.

I tell him to stop. He hangs on to me, not crying, he has gone beyond that. I lower him down, and he hangs on to me, silent. He is grey, his eyes glassy, and I know he's in shock. That is good, that is good, I know that place well. I wish I could go there, but it's too late for that. I know I should leave him. I tell him we've stopped.

Slowly, he slumps, and he's heavy, and cold. I hold him against me, and think he might be dead. But he breathes, his eyes glassy, and I know that place well. I wish I could go there, but that is for later. Later I'll go there. Later I will.

I hold him against me, and stroke at his hair. I don't think he can feel it, if he's gone to that place. But I stroke at his hair, and tell him that we've stopped. It has stopped. It has stopped. That it good. It has stopped.

**Three**

* * *

I am still, and so quiet, and I do what he tells me. He tells me to sit, and that I am to be quiet. I stay very quiet. I stay very still. I wish I could sleep, I am tired, very tired. I stay very quiet. He won't hurt me then. I sit, and I wait, and I try not to sleep. Half of me feels ... As if I'm not here. It is hard to stay here. I wish I could sleep. I try to sit up, so that he won't hurt me. I sit, and I slip, and I wish I could sleep. I sit ... and I slip ... and I know he will hurt me. I huddle, so tired, and I wait for the pain. This. All of this. This is all that there is. I huddle, so tired, and I wait for the pain. This. All of this. This is all. All of this. I wait, and there is. There is no. There's no pain. There is this. On my face. He is stroking my face. There is this. There is this. He is stroking my face.

**One**

* * *

Over there, in the distance, I hear the dogs barking. Over there, to the left, and it is morning already. The boy, and my son. Is it morning already? And part of me wonders: was it deliberate? Did my son tell the boy to go the wrong way?

They have gone the wrong way, and it is morning already. And now I am ready. I hear the dogs barking, but now not so distant. The boy and my son. The boy who runs, and my son, in ruins.

The son I have ruined. I have ruined my son.

And I wonder ... I wonder ... Did my son get him ready? Do I owe, all of this ... Is all this from my son?

**Two**

* * *

Over there, in the distance, I can hear the dogs barking. The first time we heard it, I started to run. He started to howl, and then he was sick. He can't even run. But I can, I can run. So now I am running, even though they get closer. But I can, I can run, and so I keep up the running. I will keep up the running, until I get out. Or until it's all over. I can do it, I can. And it runs through my mind, it keeps running and running. I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate. I hate and I hate, until it's all over. I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate. Until it's all over. Until I stop running. I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate.

**Three**

* * *

He is here he is here. He is here I can smell them. I can hear them and smell them! They will bite me and eat me. Until I am gone. I want to be gone. I want to be gone. But I don't want them to bite me! I don't want to I don't! I am huddled up tight. They will bite me and eat me ... I am huddled up, tight, I can hear him and smell him. I don't dare to move. I don't dare to breathe. He is here he is here ... I am huddled up tight ... Don't dare to move ... Don't dare to breathe ... He is here, and he's touching ... He's touching my face ... He is lifting ... I am lifting ... He is lifting me up. He is lifting me up ... I want to be gone. I want to be gone.

**One**

* * *

I have ruined my son. Have I ruined my son? He is grey, twisted, gnarled. His skin is all scars. His face is all leather, stretched over bone. His face is so ... ugly. Oh, it was such a fine face. It was such a fine face! And now it is ugly. Will he always be ugly? All of this I have done. All of this to my son.

So, I carry my son, and do not look at his face. His face is so ugly, it does not look like a face. He is no longer my son, yet ... I know that he is. He is this thing I have crafted; no, he is not a thing. So, I carry my son, and do not look at his face. All of this I have done. All of this I have done.

But I will call the old man, and the old man will come. And the old man and I, we will make something different. We will make a new son. This thing we will craft; no, he is not a thing. He is still ... my son. So, I carry my son, and I look at his face. I will make a new son. I will make a new son.

**Two**

* * *

I stopped running.

I know they will find me, so I sit and I wait. I sit and I wait and I think of the hate. I think of the hate and it is all I can think of. I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate.

I know they will find me. I know what is coming.

I hate and I hate and I hate and I hate.

**Three**

* * *

White so much white it is all that there is. I shut my eyes tight but there is still so much white. I can't take the white it is ice and it hurts. It hurts and I cry and there's still so much white. I cry and it hurts and I shut my eyes tight. I can't take the white. I can't take the white. And voices as well there are voices around me. There are voices around me and whispers and words. They are voices I know and they cut me and bite me. How do I know them? They are not from the dark. The voices they soothe but they cut me and hurt me. They are not from the dark so I shut my eyes tight. But then there is one there is one voice I know. There is one voice so low and so quiet and so still. It is a voice from the dark and so I don't cry. It is quiet and so still and I know not to cry. I know I must listen. I try and I try. I know I must listen. I know not to cry.

**One**

* * *

I sit and I wait, for my son is asleep. I sit and I wait and I look at that face. I sit, and I wonder, is he even a person? It was such a fine face. Was he ever a person? And will he be still? Maybe he will be. Maybe he was.

So I sit and I wait, for I wait for the boy. The boy they will find. The boy they will bring me. I sit and I wait, and I think of that face. It was such a fine face. It was such a fine face. And I think, and I wonder, is he even a person? Do I think him a person? But that is no matter. He will be compliant, and silent, for I know the boy well. He will do what I tell him, but that is no matter. I know he is waiting. So I wait for the boy.

**Two**

* * *

What I want – all I want - is for there to be nothing. For there to be nothing. To be nothing left. To strip off the face, to peel off the skin. To tear out the muscle, to pull out the bones. To scoop out the eyes, to scrape out the tongue. To wrench and to rip out the heart and the lungs. To twist and to scour and to split and to prise. Until there is nothing. There will be nothing left. It is all that I want. This. All of this.

I sit, and I wait, and I know what is coming. It was always for this. This, all of this.

**Three**

* * *

How long has it been? Has it been long? I don't know where I am. Do I know where I am? I don't know where I am, but today I won't panic. Today I feel different and so, slowly, I breathe. Slowly, I breathe, and I let my mind focus. I let my mind focus, and I shut my eyes tight. I keep them shut tight and then, slowly, I breathe. I breathe in, and then out, so that I don't panic. I breathe in, and then out, then I let my eyes open. I let my mind focus, and I look straight ahead. Slowly, I breathe, I breathe in, and then out. I breathe in, and then out, I don't know where I am. I breathe in, and then out, then I let my eyes focus. I let my eyes focus and I am here, in a room. Do I know where I am? There is ... a ceiling ... so light ... and a window ... more light. There is light through the window. There is light coming in. There are walls ... there is light ... and a table ... a door. I let myself look, for other things that might hurt me. There are no other things, or other things I can see. And so I let my mind focus and I think of my body. I can open my mouth ... I can lift up my head ... I can lift up my hand but I ... can't move my fingers. I can't move my fingers. I won't think of that now. And all through my back, and my stomach, it aches. I try to curl up. It hurts to curl up. It hurts to curl up, but the pain it feels different. The pain it feels ... clean? I let my mind focus and ... the stink, it has gone? Am I no longer rotting? Am I no longer dying, a dead thing, with that stink? I try to sit up, and the pain it is searing. But it is pain I can take, so I struggle to sit. My whole body shakes as I haul myself up. The pain, it is searing, but I know I can take it. So I haul myself up, and then let myself rest. I let myself breathe, and I breathe in the pain. Then I breathe out the pain. And then over again. I breathe in the pain, and then out, and then in. Over and over. Until I'm ... just breathing. That is all that there is. I breathe in, and then out, and then over again. I breathe in the light. I breathe it all in.

**One**

* * *

The boy has been found. They are taking him down there. Such a dark place to be taken, but soon I will be with him. I sit, and I wait, and soon I will be with him. I sit, and I wait, and I cannot help but wonder. What will I find there? Is it even a person? Will I find, in the dark, a man or a thing?

**Two**

* * *

I do what they say, and so no-one will hurt me. I know they won't hurt me if I do what they say. I walk, my head down, over branches and bracken. I try not to think. I try not to think.

I walk, my head down, and I look at my hands. I look at the palms, and the fingers, and wrists. I try not to think. I try not to think. All they are is just sinew, and tendons, and meat. They are not really hands. I try not to think.

**Three**

* * *

From far away, in the distance, I hear all the screaming. I don't think I can take it, but it doesn't seem to stop. I breathe out, and then in, but still I can hear it. I don't think I can take it. Please make it stop. I curl up, so tight, and try to drown out the sound. 'Please,' I say. 'Please.' Over and over. I press down on my ears with bound hands, and I squeeze. It gets louder and louder. Why won't it stop? I curl up, so tight, and I know I can't take it. I can't take that sound. Why won't it stop? 'Please,' I say. 'Please?' And I know that I can't that I can't take that sound. I know that I can't because I know where it's from. It's from the place I know best it's from down in the dark. I know who it's from. I know it is him.

**One**

* * *

I breathe out, and then in, and then over again. The key in the lock. The groaning of oak. I breathe out, and then in, and then I go in.

In the darkness, the far corner, a shadow, a figure. As still as a corpse. I know it is him.

I say, 'Come here.'

Nothing; no movement; not a whisper of breath. I breathe out, and then in. I will not say it again.

Silence, and stillness, and then slowly it moves. Onto its knees, and then onto its feet. The figure it moves, so slowly, into the light. One step, then another, but not a whisper of breath. It is like watching a corpse. A corpse, yes, a corpse; a corpse is just what it is.

I breathe out, and then in, and then I lean in. I place my finger under the chin, to where the head droops down low. The corpse does not shudder; there is no intake of breath. There is just silence, and stillness, and so I lift up the chin. There is no choking; no heaving; no wasted sound of a wail. I stand there, and stare, and I take it all in.

I know it is him, but this is somebody different. I had wanted the boy. I had not wanted ... this.

I stare at that face, and know I should see a person. The eyes do not flicker. I had not wanted this.

**Two**

* * *

Do not think. Do not think. Do not think of all this. Do not think what is coming. Do not think. Do not think.

I need to go to that place! I am trying and trying.

Do not think. Do not look. Do not look at his face.

Please let me go there. I need to go. Now.

Do not look. Do not look. Do not look at his face.

Oh please let me go there. It is coming. It is.

Do not think. Do not think. He is closer and closer.

I am trying so hard. Oh please it is coming.

He is touching you touching he is touching your face.

I am trying so hard. Will it be long?

You know that it will. It will take a long time.

Oh please let me go there ... Then it won't take so long?

He won't let you go there. You know that he won't.

Oh please let me go there ... Please I could ask him ...?

He won't let you go there. There is no point in trying.

Here. It is here. It is here. It is here.

**One**

* * *

This thing, once a boy; as still as a corpse. Not a boy; not a person; he is nobody's son. He is no-one; no person; he is just meat and bone. Just a thing; just a thing; just a no-thing; just this.

I have never seen such terror.

He holds himself up as one would position a doll. He appears rigid, disjointed, not held together with skin. Each shoulder, each limb, every part of him looks wrong. His face is carved out; his eyes are glazed, gaping black. He stares past me, so still, as my fingers trace over his cheek. He could be a corpse. But that is not what he is.

I could kill him. I could end it. All of this could be over.

But I do not want it over. That is not what I want.

He could be a corpse, but that is not what he is. This is all that I want. This. All of this.

**Two**

* * *

All there is, all there has been, all there ever will be. This is all that exists.

This is all that there is.

This is all that I am, this is all I have been.

This is all I will be. There is nothing but this.

I want it to end. But there is no end for me.

This is all that exists.

There is this.

Only this.

**One**

* * *

I want him to scream until his voice is shredded and torn.

I want him to scream until there's no air left in his lungs.

I want him to scream, I want him to beg.

I want him to scream until nothing is left.

I want him to beg. I want him to cry.

I want him to bargain, I want him to lie.

I want him to tell me he will do anything I ask.

I want him to tell me he is sorry, he will try.

I want him to be sorry. I want him to try.

I want him to want to do anything, anything I ask.

I want him to want me.

I want him.

I want him.

**Two**

* * *

There is no. There's no pain. There is no. There's no pain.

There is nothing. Just nothing. There is no. There's no pain.

There is nothing. Just nothing.

Try not to think of it.

But where is the pain?

Try not to think of it.

I don't understand?

Try not to think of it.

Hush! He is speaking. You need to listen.

I don't want to listen. I don't want to. I don't!

Hush! He is speaking. He is telling you something.

I don't want to listen. But where is the pain?

Hush! You must listen. He is telling you something.

He is telling me something. He is speaking so softly.

He is speaking so softly. Here, in your ear.

Listen. Just listen.

He says, 'Here. I am here.'

**One**

* * *

What I want - all I want - is to do something different. I want to be different. I do not want to be this.

A man, not a thing.

I want to be different.

I want to give in.

I want to give in.

A man, not a thing. I want so much to be different.

But this boy is a boy; that is all that he is.

A boy; just a boy; just a boy, not a thing.

I want to give in.

But I also want him.

Softly, so softly, I speak in his ear.

I do not tell him I want him.

I say, 'Here. I am here.'

**Two**

* * *

It is all that he says.

It is all that he does.

It is all that there is.

This. Only this.

It is all I can take.

It is all I have left.

There is nothing left.

This. Only this.

**One**

* * *

As he slumps, passes out, it is like there is nothing left to him. There is nothing left in him. I know he has nothing left. As he slumps, I lean forward; his torso pressing against me; it is grotesque, like a dance. Is this what I had wanted, this misshapen puppet? No, this is not what I wanted. No, this is not what I want.

I lower him down, my misshapen puppet. He looks mangled, malformed; no, this is not what I wanted. There is nothing, no movement, and then his whole body jolts. A judder, a shudder, as he curls into himself. He is collapsing; dissolving; he is crumbling in. There is nothing left in him, left over, for me. He is nothing; a no-thing. I have done all of this.

Slowly, I slump, for I have ruined this boy. This is what I had wanted. I had not wanted this.

Then, slowly, it dawns. I had not wanted this. This is not what I wanted. I shift on to my knees, and reach down, and reach in. I reach in to the boy, and I gather him up. I gather him in to my hold and my touch. I gather him in to that place he has been. It is a place that he knows, where he can be something different. Softly, I tell him that it all will be different. He will be someone different. I will make a new son.


End file.
